It's Called...Yes, What, Precisely? Poem, by Chic George, at My poetic side

There's nothing quite like trying to feign you're fine when all's in shambles, where Friday seemed a glorious dream and all's quite bottomed out.

[I Told Myself to Write]

(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMXCV)

Oh mournful break of day, I am too frail,

As naked trees lined up evince naught hence,

Let me recall the budded limbs whose sense

Of yonder 'gainst the skies in red's detail

Spoke volumes, hope alive and waltzing; fail

Not at seeing past these leaden racks whose dense

Blank is but Jan'ry's style and, for intents

Famil'ar. Did I plan and naught'd avail?

No Barry's as erst wont on Sundays fer

So long, but how fresh raspb'rries soften to

Effect these sorrows. Did dreams trick as twere

The hours out, and have fled? Such were not true.

If I were not so blue, I'd be astir

With waltzing visions still. LORD, I need You.

19Jan25a

Curiously, after being informed I'd not be off after ten hours nor twelve, but was ordered to pull "a double," AND return hours later, once my relief called, assuring me I would at least be off after sixteen hours, the sun emerged and all appeared to revive, likeas my own spirits. Go figure?!

There's So Very Much I Need to Learn

(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMXCVI)

As if the phone call gave me hope, what thence?

But lo, the sun peers through, likeas t'avail

Now I have laughed and feel a glimmer; trail

To yonder's not as murky as suspense

Had framed th'unknown, this patient waiting hence

Half what the woods in silence are, the frail

Cold bits of snow as wont, yet that detail

I know whileas the sun shines in defense.

So guess it was that I made plans in poor

'Scuse, and they were thrown out. Behold, thin blue

Heavns' icy mien grey cloud fluffs float as twere

In, all nigh frozen like below. What do

We do, that we're a wreck when our plans' tour

Is thus denied? Redeem us, LORD, won't You?

19Jan25b

Hint: a cold Spring OR a warm Spring

Remember WHAT Groundhog Day Means:

(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMXCVII)

That none too subtle eye of Spring's all hail,

Despite subzero temps, is still from thence

Established, like the hopeful glimmer sense

Grasped for twa days ere when birdsongs' detail

And dripping eaves swore off Death's hold t'avail,

As all seemed coming back to life fr'intents,

Buds on erst naked limbs now partly hence

E'en robed in fragile red I hope shan't fail.

Watch sparrows fly off frae my deck in tour

Whenas I come back home, the merry crew

So sweetly gathered in, was't play as t'were?

Then sip hot cocoa lest you freeze anew

Upon the clock, and learn where all's astir

E'en in these bitter hours, to wait on You.

19Jan25c

Author: Chic George (Pseudonym) ( Online)
Published: January 20th, 2025 06:19
Comment from author about the poem: So, I knew the lofty highs of Friday wouldn't endure, the forecast said enough, but I never in my wildest dreams thought work would turn life upside-down. And still I'm having fun. Go figure? Enjoy.
Category: Unclassified
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It's Called...Yes, What, Precisely?

Cheeky Missy